


Olfaction

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Masturbation, MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Scully masturbating during Mulder's abduction
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Olfaction

Since the cancer, her sense of smell has declined. Hyposmia. The complex chemical and neurological processes that must transpire for an odour to be successfully detected and interpreted have been diminished. Yet. His bedsheets, rumpled and warm. The white tee-shirt she found coiled under his pillow. The pillow case itself. These hold not just the aroma of Mulder, but a safe world into which she can slip, lose herself.

Guilty pleasures have ox-bowed her otherwise straight path in life. Smoking a joint with Missy. Romance novels. Nothing but ice cream from the tub for dinner. Movie musicals. Sliding into Mulder’s bed, fully clothed, has become perhaps the most sober of these self-indulgences.

She’s not sure if the lingering smell is real, after all this time, or a memory she’s clutching on to. Nostalgia, grief, fear, hormones can alter perceptions.

Now, as her hands rest on her swollen abdomen, her skirt rucked up, blouse untucked, her stocking feet pointed under the weight of the covers, she recalls his face, that smile, those lips, his hooded, sometimes dangerous eyes, the broad nose he made quips about (how am I gonna kiss you properly with this thing constantly in the way, Scully?), his arms pressed around her so that she could feel the ripple of his muscles, his insistent fingers. Her skin tingles at the memory. Her eyes sting. She turns her head into the pillow, lets the tear burn onto the cotton. She’s tired of crying. Tired of being angry with him.

Really, she just misses him.

She hears his laugh, that warm chuckle and a smile pulls at her lips. Her fingers trace the crest and slopes of her stomach. She’s grown used to the heaviness of pregnancy. How he would have loved to run his hands over her skin, whisper to their baby, tell her what a good job she was doing cooking their little bean.

She turns over, wriggles to free her knees from under her skirt. The hem rises so that it snugs her hips. The waist band of her hose digs in and she pulls it down under her skirt. There was a time, another deviation from her straight path, when Mulder pushed her up against the wall of the office, desperate hands ripping at clothes; buttons and zippers falling victim to passion. He filled her up and left her burning with the illicit thrill of their union.

The memory sparks her synapses and she lets her hand drift between her thighs. The weight of it against her centre sends a pulse of warmth through her. It’s wrong, she thinks. Wrong to find pleasure. But there’s always been a part of her that bucks against the system. A part that’s become more developed since she’s known Mulder. She pushes the side of her hand harder against the gusset of her underwear, eliciting an even stronger response. A loss of self-control. She can almost hear Mulder encouraging her. Go on, Scully. What harm can it do?

Her medical mind provides her with an unheralded list of the benefits of masturbation. Increased heart rate, endorphin release, improved sleep, stress relief. Slipping her fingers under the fabric, she slides two between her lips, engorged, slick. Her eyes close, she inhales, increases the pace. Nose pressed into the pillow, she breathes him in and bucks her pelvis against her wrist. Muscles tense, her toes stretch, her nipples strain against the cup of her bra. An involuntary moan escapes her throat and she imagines Mulder doing the same.

She lifts her knees apart and dips two fingers inside, keeping the heel of her thumb pressed hard against her clit. Her movements becomes rapid, fraught. She gulps in a breath, holds it. Heart bursting against her ribcage. Exquisite guilt thrums through her as she climaxes hard. That’s it, that’s it. His words calm her as she comes down.

Her body trembles. The smell of him fills her nose, the thought of him fills her mind. The baby somersaults and she laughs despite herself, spilling more tears onto his bedding. Lifting her wet hand away, she bends her elbow to rest it between her breasts, the aroma of her own guilty pleasure sharp under her nose; and drifts off dreaming of Mulder’s face.


End file.
